


What's in a name?

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Genderfluid Character, Surrealism, Trick or Treat 2020, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: a past with no framework to conceive of it cannot lastsome truths are strong enough to survive the dimensional shift
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	What's in a name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elsin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/gifts).



The train has always existed.

If there was anything before that it has long since slipped away. Countless rewrites of reality as the train slides between dimensions, making and remaking itself as necessary to exist in spaces with new symmetries that laugh at the old. A past with no framework to conceive of it cannot last. With each new stop reality warps, perspectives change. What once had meaning is now meaningless (or always has never existed.) New dimensions, new universes, make and unmake themselves while the train goes about it’s route. It may not always run on time (time? what an arbitrary concept) but it always runs. 

There was always the train.

And when it had a need for one, the conductor. 

The conductor was as changeable as the train. Perhaps more so as it often needed to interact with a variety of different passengers from incompatible dimensions. It did prefer symmetry whenever possible, becoming partial to bipedal locomotion after a while. As a result it had heard itself described in a variety of ways. ‘Vaguely humanoid’ was the most common but on occasion described as ‘a literal goddamn nightmare.’ So long as the conductor was capable of performing its function aesthetics were inconsequential. 

Perhaps it was getting nostalgic, the conductor mused to itself as it went about its business, one foot in front of the other. Tickets, schedules, manifests, security sweeps - with each destination different from the last, the conductor must keep up with the requirements of the passengers as realities shift around them on their journey. It did its job with the confidence of a being doing the only thing it has ever known for as long as it can remember. 

As such, there were very few things capable of surprising it these days. 

“What’s your name?” 

“I’m sorry?” The conductor asked, confused. Name? Why would it have--

“Your name,” the passenger persisted. She had long, flowing hair of iridescent metal and no real body to speak of (though more than capable to speak _from._ )

The conductor blinked, taking her ticket and fumbling it into the waiting pouch. It was at a loss. When a passenger had a question it had an answer. Maybe not and answer that they found satisfying or entirely helpful but it was able to give them at least _something._ That was part of its job. Its function on the train. 

“I’m the conductor.” 

An impression of a frown from the passenger, impressive with no face. “That’s your job, not your name.” 

“Yes?” None of its usual confidence was in its voice.

“Do you…” A realization hit her, making her hair shift to a bright, shining gold that started braiding itself into a complicated repeating sequence that would make a theoretical mathematician's eyes bleed. “What do they call you then? When someone needs to get your attention.” 

It would not be appropriate to repeat some of the things directed at it in the past. “Conductor, usually. Or something approaching it.” The conductor shrugged. “The train translates as best it can to avoid confusion. The intent is usually clear enough even if the words are... inappropriate for the situation.” 

“I see.” The passenger nodded. “Would you," she hesitated, the ends off her hair slowly unwinding into shining curls, "like a name?”

“I-” The conductor was taken aback. A name? Did it really need one? What purpose would it serve? Now that the thought was planted it couldn’t deny the appeal. A _name._ It nodded slowly, cautiously. “Yes, I think... I think I’d like that.” 

“I know just the thing.” The passenger plucked a single golden hair from her head, flatting it into a thin rectangle before passing it over to the conductor.  
  
Three characters were imprinted into the plate in its hands. “Duc?” 

“Derived from conductor,” she clarified. “A name should reflect the person. Besides, I’ve never been to a dimension that didn’t have ducks in one form or another. It seems fitting the train should have one too.” 

“Duc.” The conductor smiled around the word, the name. _Their_ name. “I like it.” They secured the badge along their uniform, trailing digits across the engraved characters. It felt solid there. Grounding. A truth that would survive the dimensional shifts.

“It suits you.” The passenger stood as the train approached the station. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Duc. I think this is my stop.” 

“Indeed it is. I hope your trip has been enjoyable, have a pleasant cycle, Ms…?” 

An embarrassed flurry of color rustled the hair around her lack of form as she realized that in all the fuss over names she had neglected to introduce herself. She gave her name as a burst of light across the tail end of the visible spectrum. 

_372.04 - 398.22nm_ the train helpfully supplied. 

Duc smiled, it always did struggle with translating names.

**Author's Note:**

> "Have a pleasant cycle, Ms. Violet." 


End file.
